


in case of emergency

by turtleduckzukka (happygiraffe)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fever, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, M/M, Sickfic, Whump, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, aang brings his therapy dog appa to the hospital on fridays, cameos by the rest of the gaang, canon-typical references to child abuse, first name: uncle, grown up gaang, iroh's name is uncle i'm sorry i don't know why zuko is like this, last name: blank, trauma surgeon katara, zukka - Freeform, zuko & iroh's emotional reunion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happygiraffe/pseuds/turtleduckzukka
Summary: Zuko arrives in Katara's emergency department with a severe stab wound from an all-too-familiar assailant. While he's trying to hold everyone together, Sokka unwittingly uncovers a part of his boyfriend's past that Zuko has been avoiding for almost a decade.or, a modern hurtcomfort au with a side of Zukka and family reunions
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 265
Kudos: 1092





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some general notes:
> 
> I thought trauma surgery was a good modern au fit for Katara because she's a healer but she thrives in the thick of the action too. To be the fully fledged surgeon that she is, I imagine Katara being at least about 25, maybe older. Adjust everyone else's ages accordingly.
> 
> This is a "modern" au as in the sense that there are cell phones and such, but it still takes place in the a:tla "world" (as in, 4 nations+republic city). However, the history of the world is more mundane (i.e. the gaang's childhoods were more like the krew's, as in not in an era of war and genocide)

Katara waits on the pavement, gloved and geared up for the incoming trauma. She's already been informed that the person in the oncoming ambulance is a stab wound to the abdomen, allegedly from some kind of street brawl. She's not squeamish, and she's ready for whatever little horrors she's about to see. A sight that she is not ready for, however, is her brother's face.

For a few seconds, Katara's brain fails to process that Sokka is not on a gurney, or covered in blood, or being hovered over by EMTs. "Sokka?! What the hell, are you okay?"

"What? I'm fine!" Sokka shouts, gesturing towards the man on the gurney. She realizes that Sokka is just a passenger, not a patient. She only allows herself a single moment of relief before she slips back into action mode.

Lani gives her the patient's status as they wheel him into the ER. His BP is low, heart rate is way too high, abdomen is rigid, and he needs a CT scan like, yesterday.

"Zuko, meet my sister," Sokka interjects as he jogs behind them.

"Zuko, my name is Katara," she says, in a soft tone usually reserved for the very young or the barely-conscious. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the name registers as belonging to the person Sokka had been mentioning for the past several months. "We are going to take a look at your wound and then get some scans. Is there somebody Sokka can call for you?"

"No," he winces through gritted teeth.

"Are you sure? This is definitely going to need surgery.” Katara watches his face for any signs that he’s losing alertness. “Do you live with anyone, or do your parents live nearby?"

Zuko tenses at the word 'parents'. "I do not consent to anybody calling my father," he growls. "I don't need anyone." He cranes his neck to sit up and is met with an EMT's restraining hand on his shoulder. 

"Okay, easy," Katara says, shaking her head. They arrive at the trauma bay. When the nurse approaches with scissors, Zuko's eyes go wide.

"Your shirt's already ruined, so we're going to go ahead and cut you out of it," Katara explains. "Do you want me to send this idiot to wait in the hall?" She tries to lighten the mood with a thumb gesturing towards Sokka. She ignores Sokka’s indignant squawk.

Zuko shakes his head that no, he wants Sokka to stay, so Katara hands Sokka a medical history form and a pen so that Zuko can dictate the answers to him while she focuses on her work.

Sokka holds Zuko's hand while they change him into a hospital gown and start an IV with medications for his pain and shock. He's awake, but not fully alert. As she looks him over, Katara's eye is drawn to the scar tissue on his face, but upon closer inspection it's clearly several years old. There are a few other bangs and bruises that look fresh, but the only thing that worries her is the wound in his gut. It's deep, and almost definitely contaminated. She treats what she can, but they need to act fast.

"I didn't think this would be how I finally met your boyfriend, Sokka," Katara quips.

Zuko squeezes Sokka's hand, and Sokka squeezes back.

The privacy curtain rustles and Yugoda calls in, "Radiology's ready for you, Katara." The Chief of Surgery doesn't wait for a response; she's apparently also in a hurry somewhere.

Sokka seems to realize that he's about to be left behind, and the look he gives Katara is almost pleading. She cocks her head towards the doors they need to be leaving through, telling him to wrap it up.

Sokka gives Zuko's hand one more squeeze. Katara looks away to give them a moment, but from the corner of her eye she sees her brother lean over to kiss the man's temple and whisper, "Hey, you got this."

Katara takes a deep breath and reminds herself that she's got this, too.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sokka collapses into a chair and waits. He's already talked to the police for about as long as he could bear, but he doesn’t see the point because it sounds like they’ve already apprehended the attacker and placed her in psychiatric care.

He doesn't know if he's supposed to stay. He likes Zuko, a lot, and things were going well between them. But Zuko is a private kind of guy, and staying feels like an intrusion somehow. Sokka would feel better if he had family here to take care of him. He doesn't think anybody should wake up after surgery completely alone.

He wonders how much he still doesn't know about the man. The person who'd been waiting for them outside Zuko’s apartment building—Zuko seemed to know her, and she'd clearly known him. What the hell kind of mess had they gotten themselves in? He rubs his wrists nervously. 

Katara is still wearing a surgical smock when she comes to talk to him. Sokka recognizes the slight furrow of worry in her brow, and finds his hands curling into fists. 

"Before he went under, he gave us permission to update you," she explains. "They're still working on him, but he's in bad shape, Sokka. We need to find out who has the authority to make medical decisions for him, in case his condition deteriorates."

"Okay?" Sokka says tentatively, not sure what he's supposed to do about it.

"He left it blank on his intake form. I was hoping he might have mentioned someone to you at some point, maybe a family member other than his father, or close friend."

Sokka rubs his wrists again. "We don't exactly talk about that stuff. You want me to try to go through his phone?"

Katara nods. "If that doesn't work, bring his wallet to the desk, and there are a few things they can try. Social services can try to get in touch with his landlord in case there's an emergency name or number on file for his apartment."

"Tara, is he...like, dying?" Sokka winces as he says it.

"Not yet," she hisses. "I have to get back."

She leaves Sokka alone again in the uncomfortable waiting room chair. He fishes through the pockets of Zuko's blood-spattered leather jacket for his phone, but Zuko doesn't have any emergency numbers programmed in to bypass the lock screen. Sokka guesses passcodes until the damn thing locks up, then throws it back into the plastic bag of Zuko's belongings with more force than is strictly necessary.

Zuko is only a year older than him. How can he just be...alone? No one to call? Even the darkest times in his life, when he'd felt most alone, Sokka had still always known he could call Gran Gran, or Katara, or even get a message to Dad on base if the situation were truly dire. Hell, he'd feel okay reaching out to almost any of the adults in their tribe if he were really, really in a pinch. Bato's number was in his phone. How does someone survive without a support system? He swallows the lump that forms in his throat and takes Zuko's driver's license out of his wallet.

At the front desk, they find that Zuko was treated at this particular hospital once before, eight years ago. He'd given an emergency contact then. At first, Sokka is encouraged, but then he sees the form. There is no name or address, only "Uncle", and a phone number.

Sokka doesn't know whether to laugh or cry tears of frustration. "So what? Do I just call this?" he asks, but the man at the desk just shrugs.

It's the best lead he has. It’s barely even a lead. Who even keeps the same phone number for eight years?

Sokka goes back to his seat. He realizes he has no idea what to say to 'first name: Uncle, last name: blank'.

He tries to imagine it. 

'Hi Uncle,' —no Sokka, don't say that— 

How about, 'Hello, is this Zuko's uncle? He put you as his emergency contact.'

He dials the number. "Hello, is this Zuko's uncle? You were his only emergency contact."

There's a long pause, in which Sokka starts to suspect that the number has in fact changed ownership in the past 8 years.

Finally a thin voice asks, "What happened?"

Sokka realizes that he might have made it sound like Zuko was dead. "He's okay!" Sokka says, then he stumbles, "Well, I meant, he's not okay, but he's alive. But they're trying to make him okay! I'm sorry, this is a mess."

"Who is this?"

"I'm his—" he remembers Zuko's violent insistence that they not contact his father, and realizes he's never asked whether Zuko is out to his family. He swallows, and pulls himself together. "I'm Sokka. Zuko is in surgery right now. He was in a fight. This crazy lady attacked us—attacked him, mostly, and he has a serious stab wound, but I know the surgeon who's fixing him up, sir, and she's the best there is. They need to know who might be qualified to make decisions for him, you know, um, in case."

"I'm not sure, anymore," the man said, sounding sad. "When did this happen? Is he alright?"

"A few hours ago, and I—uh," Sokka decides it's best to be honest. "I don't think they know yet. Do you want me to call you again when we have some more information?"

"That would be very kind of you. Where are you right now?"

Sokka gives the address of the hospital, and 'Uncle' says he'll be there on the soonest train.

"Thank you, Sokka," says the voice on the phone, amid thunking and zipper noises that sound like the man is already packing a bag.

"You're welcome, um..."

"Iroh. If Zuko wakes up before I arrive, please tell him I am on my way. I'm afraid I'm on the other side of the country."

"Okay. I will."

Sokka hangs up what was probably the weirdest phone call of his life, and hopes that Zuko will be more happy to see this person than he will be angry about the invasion of privacy. Then he decides that as long as Zuko is well enough to feel happy or angry, he could be content with that.

He takes a lap around the floor, and buys himself a coffee while he waits. At last, Katara appears.

"Zuko is in post-op. He's doing okay for right now," she reports. "Infection was pretty much inevitable with a wound like that, so it's really more a question of whether or not we can control it. He’s in for a rough few days."

"Is he awake?" Sokka asks.

Katara shakes her head. "He won't be for a while. Yugoda took over my next patient because I just need a minute. Come here,"

She leads him through back passageways that she knows by heart, to the least-frequented on-call room. Sokka sits down on the bed, and Katara flops down next to him. She pulls her hair out of its tight bun and lets the sweaty curls fall on her shoulders.

“Tara?”

"That was so scary" she whispers. "I thought we were going to lose him. He was bleeding so much into his abdominal cavity that it was hard to even see where it was coming from.”

Sokka swallows, finding that he really, really doesn't want to know the details. Normally, he loves how Katara's eyes light up when she's talking about blood and guts and healing, but it's much easier to tune out his own disgust when it's not his boyfriend's guts in question.

Katara seems to have read his face. "Did you find a family member?"

"Mmm-hmm. I used my excellent detective skills." A halfhearted punch meets his knee. Sokka remembers to shoot a quick update text to Zuko's uncle. He hopes the man's phone can receive texts. Maybe the type of guy who keeps the same number for a decade is the type of guy who keeps the same phone for a decade too.

He rubs Katara’s shoulder. “I’ll guard the door if you wanna nap,” he offers.

Katara sits up. “No, it’s okay.” She pulls her legs up onto the cot and leans back against the wall, and Sokka does the same.

She leans her head on his shoulder, like they used to do when they were kids, on the rare occasion that they weren’t squabbling, and take a moment to breathe.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Zuko starts to come out of the anesthesia, he can’t speak. His good eye flutters open unseeingly. He tries to say something, but it comes out as a dry, hoarse cough. Sokka offers to go get him a cup of water, but by the time he returns, Zuko is sleeping again.

The next time, he’s just loopy. His eyes are bright with fever and he squirms around restlessly in the bed, mumbling. Sokka tries to offer the water again, and Zuko takes it, insisting that he doesn’t need help, and then proceeds to dump most of it right down his front. It takes everything in Sokka not to laugh. When he starts tugging on his IV lines and monitors, Sokka traps both of Zuko’s hands between his own until Zuko _hmmpfs_ and drifts back under.

The third time Zuko wakes up, he doesn’t remember the first two times. Sokka decides that’s probably for the best.

“Sokka? You’re here?” he croaks.

“Yeah,” Sokka says with a soft exhale. He doesn’t know what else to say.

“I feel like shit,” Zuko whispers.

“You look like shit,” Sokka affirms. It’s true. Zuko is paler than usual, and his normally soft hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat.

Zuko pauses for a moment, taking in the room. For a moment, Sokka thinks he’s going to go back to sleep. Then he asks, “What happened to Azula?”

“Stabby lady?” Sokka guesses. “Don’t worry, they caught her. Who was she?”

Zuko ignores the question, swallowing as he mulls this over. “Think she’ll be okay?”

“Shit, I don’t know Zuko, she tried to _murder you_ ,” says Sokka.

 _Murder_ you. They let the severity of that statement hang in the air for a moment, undisturbed.

“Yeah,” Zuko grumbles. “I guess she finally did.”

“Finally?” Sokka demands. He rubs the back of his neck. “You want to tell me what’s going on here? Archenemies from the past don’t just appear in alleyways behind normal people’s apartments. Normal people don’t _have_ archenemies.”

“She isn’t my—well, maybe she is.” Zuko clears his sore throat, and looks disinclined to say more.

Every impulse in Sokka is screaming at him to press further, to demand answers. Zuko might be a private sort of guy, but witnessing what Sokka witnessed today has got to count for something. I mean, you might argue that dating the man for eleven months ought to count for something. Is there anybody else out there who wants to take Zuko out? Should Sokka be worried about it?

“—hey?” Zuko had apparently been trying to get his attention. “Sokka, you weren’t hurt, were you?”

Sokka shakes his head. “Nope. Just a little scared for you.”

Zuko gives an annoyed huff.

“Sokka,” says a chiding voice from the doorway. “Are you keeping him from resting?”

“No!” Sokka yelps in a voice like a wounded animal, because he knows it will make them both smile.

Katara does smile as she enters the room with her tablet tucked under her arm.

“Hi. I don’t think I properly introduced myself this afternoon,” Zuko says with a little smirk in Sokka’s direction. “I’m Zuko.”

“I’m Katara, I’m your surgeon, I’m just here to check up on you. Sokka’s my brother,” she says, because she knows the odds of him remembering that information out of all the chaos earlier are slim. “Sokka, my shift is done after this, do you need a ride home?”

Without thinking about it, Sokka glances at Zuko.

“Unless you’re planning to sleep in one of these awful chairs like a devoted Nicholas Sparks love-interest,” Zuko says with a weak laugh.

Sokka laughs too. Is it cheesy that part of him wants to do exactly that? Probably.

“My bike still is at your place,” he points out. “I rode here in the ambulance.”

“We can go get it,” says Katara. “Maybe you can pick up a few things for Zuko, too – a phone charger and a change of clothes, at least. Wait for me by the elevator?”

Sokka nods. He leans over to give Zuko a sort of awkward one-armed hug, trying not to jostle him too much.

“Thanks for being here,” Zuko mumbles into Sokka’s neck, hugging back.

“Repay me by getting better. No more homicide attempts, understood?”

“I’ll try to avoid them.”

“Text me what you want from your apartment. And do what Katara tells you.”

“Alright, Sokka. Go.”

On his way to the elevator, Sokka gets the feeling that he’s forgotten something. He dismisses it. He checks his phone, but there is nothing new since Iroh’s response several hours ago.

\-------------------------------------------------------

“Take some deep breaths for me,” Katara instructs. “Good.” She puts her stethoscope back around her neck. “The fluid drain seems to be doing its job. To be completely honest, Zuko, you’re lucky to be alive.”

Zuko winces at those words. Katara isn’t sure why.

“How long do you think until I can get out of here?” he asks.

“That depends. Your wound is infected, but you’re on a strong antibiotic and we’re hopeful that it will clear up in a few days to a week,” Katara explains. “It’s easy for these types of things to turn serious. But we’ll be keeping a close eye on you.”

She rolls his IV cart a few inches out of her way, which jostles the tubing of his oxygen cannula causing one of the side pieces to slip out from behind his left ear. “Oops, sorry.” Katara reaches to put it back, and suddenly a hand snaps up to painfully grab her wrist. “Ow!”

Zuko exhales forcefully through his nose while holding Katara’s wrist at a distance from his body. Slowly, his bone-crushing grip relaxes.

“I’m sorry,” he says, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t hear very well on that side. You startled me. Are you alright?” He tucks the left side of the cannula back behind his scarred ear himself.

Katara thinks privately that he hadn’t acted startled so much as he’d acted frightened. But it isn’t hard to guess that it might be related to the obvious traumatic injury he’d suffered to the area. She makes a mental note not to go near his face, especially the left side, without explicitly warning him.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry too.”

Katara carefully moves on to checking the area around his incision. “It really is a shame that we had to meet this way, but it’s nice to finally put a face to the name. Sokka never shuts up about you,” she offers with a laugh.

“Oh,” is all Zuko says.

“Good things,” Katara clarifies, but that doesn’t seem to alleviate Zuko’s discomfort. “Mostly good things,” she winks. Zuko doesn’t laugh. She drops the subject. Maybe he would rather just stay professional. Or maybe he just needs to go back to sleep.

“Well, try to get some rest, Zuko. Press the call button if you need anything. I’ll bring Sokka by with your things in the morning.”

Zuko grumbles something that might have been a thank you before she leaves.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Remind me again why the furball has to sit in my lap?” Sokka bleats.

“His seatbelt harness only fits on the middle seat,” says Aang from the passenger side, even though he knows that Sokka does not want or need the explanation. Sokka’s just a tiny bit cranky that he had to wake up early to catch a ride with Katara before her shift. And they had to leave _extra_ early today in order to pick up Aang, who volunteers on Fridays.

Sokka is pressed up against the door in the back of Katara’s SUV, and Appa’s massive volume of fluff still spills out of the middle seat and into his personal space. Appa is a good boy. But Sokka has chosen the wrong day to wear black jeans.

The offending party snuffles his nose into the palm of Sokka’s hand and gives it a big, wet lick, from fingertips to wrist.

“Yes. Thank you,” Sokka says wryly.

By his feet is the bag from Zuko’s apartment, containing clothes, his toothbrush, his phone charger, and the stack of books that was on Zuko’s bedside table. Sokka has also included a Tupperware container of Gran Gran’s sweet cakes, and box of tea sachets from Zuko’s kitchen counter, because he knows Zuko is secretly kind of a snob about them and whatever they stock in the hospital cafeteria is definitely not going to pass muster.

“Appa and I have a few of your patients on our list today, looks like,” says Aang. He and Katara babble on about their schedules until they pull into the parking garage.

Katara parks the car, and Sokka tries to brush the dog hair off of his pants while Aang puts Appa’s therapy dog vest on. The massive Great Pyrenees stands aloofly, wagging his tail, while Aang fusses with the straps.

“Let’s meet up for lunch!” he chirps before turning with Appa towards the pediatric wing, while Katara heads for the ER, and Sokka towards general surgery.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

When Sokka enters his room, Zuko is awake and sitting up. And livid.

“What have you done?” he growls.

“What?” asks Sokka, taken aback.

“I told you not to call anybody. Why is my uncle waiting out there?” Zuko demands.

Sokka would have smacked his own forehead if his hands weren’t occupied with Zuko’s backpack. “I knew there was something I forgot to mention!”

He could have sworn he saw Zuko’s eyes bulge. “Sokka!”

“We figured it was okay, because you listed him as an emergency contact a long time ago!” Zuko opens his mouth to retaliate, but Sokka cuts him off. “Listen, I’m sorry Zuko, but you weren’t doing well, the doctors were trying to figure out who should be in charge of making medical decisions for you. You gave them nothing else to go on.”

“You have no idea what you’ve started,” Zuko snaps.

“No, how could I?” Sokka doesn’t mean to snap back, but suddenly the words are coming out. “How could I know anything when you don’t tell me? I didn’t even know you _had_ an uncle. I thought your dad was dead until you told Katara not to call him yesterday.”

“It’s none of your business! I think I was pretty clear when I said I _didn’t_ need anyone.”

Sokka bristles at the last statement. “Why can’t it be my business? I haven’t hidden anything from you. You know about Mom, and Yue, and we’ve talked about all the dark stuff. But yesterday was the first time I found out that there’s some lady who’s wanted to kill you, apparently for a long time. I watched her try to make you a shish kebab and you won’t even tell me who she was. It’s just, I care about you, okay?”

But while he’s talking, Sokka catches himself thinking through a possibility that he hadn’t before.

“Zuko, is this guy…is he someone who’s going to make you feel unsafe? We can call security right now.”

“No!” Zuko rolls his eyes like that is a stupid suggestion, which again, Sokka feels is assuming an unfair level of prior knowledge. “I don’t owe you my life story, okay?” Zuko huffs.

“Well, no,” says Sokka. “But I thought at some point you’d _want_ to share it with me. Sorry.” Sokka puts the bag on the foot of Zuko’s bed and ducks out of the room because he’s too confused to keep his emotions in check right now.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Sokka knows several of Katara’s secret hiding spots in the hospital. He finds one to hole up in with his frustration and guilt for a while.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Aang has already saved them a table in the cafeteria. Sokka skips the line because truthfully, he feels a little sick to his stomach.

“Hey Sokka! How’s Zuko?” he asks with his mouth full.

“Okay I think. You should ask Katara,” says Sokka, keeping his tone light for Aang’s sake.

Katara sets her tray down on Aang’s other side, and Aang happily launches into a story about a kid putting hair bows in Appa’s fur.

“Where is Appa, anyway?” Katara interrupts.

To their surprise, the dog is not where he’s supposed to be, sleeping under Aang’s chair.

All three exchange glances. They’re not _worried_ , per se. Appa’s never hurt a fly and can’t have gone far with the slow, plodding way he moves. They’re just…concerned.

Katara spots him first. Appa is just outside the cafeteria entrance, in an open lounge area where there are big floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rest of the buildings in the hospital complex. He is standing next to someone in a wheelchair with his whole furry head in their lap.

Sokka follows a few paces behind Aang as he approaches. When they get closer to the person who is facing the windows, Sokka realizes. He lightly touches Aang’s shoulder and says, “Let me."

Aang acquiesces and falls back.

“Hey,” Sokka says, sitting down next to the wheelchair.

Zuko doesn’t look up.

Sokka rubs his wrist and says, “I’m sorry, Zuko. I know you don’t owe it to me to talk about the dark stuff.”

Zuko gives a shaky, sniffling inhale. _Shit shit shit_ Sokka didn’t think he’d be crying. Zuko is blinking rapidly and focusing on brushing the fur out of Appa’s eyes.

“Listen. It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Zuko finally says. “There’s just so much of it, Sokka. I don’t think you understand. There’s so much dark stuff.”

“Okay,” says Sokka. “But I was still wrong earlier. I’m sorry for pressuring you. But you know…if at some point you’re ready to talk about it—you don’t have to share everything all at once.”

“It's not that simple. It’s all such a fucking interconnected mess, if I answer one thing you'll have forty more questions,” Zuko counters.

“That’s okay. I won’t ask any follow-up questions if they make you more uncomfortable. You can tell me as much or as little as you want. Or nothing.”

Zuko nods, rubbing Appa’s ears. The dog licks his chops and turns his big, brown eyes up at Zuko.

“What if I tried just one thing at a time?” he mumbles. “No questions.”

“No questions, got it.”

“Okay,” says Zuko, still addressing Appa who is busy shifting his head to help guide Zuko’s fingers to the perfect spot to scratch. “I lived with my uncle for a few years. 13 to 16,” he says. “But at the end, I did something that really hurt him. It’s not that I don’t want to see him again…I guess I just don’t get why he would want to see me.”

Sokka nods, suddenly reminded of how it felt to be 16 and irrationally nervous to see his father again. He doesn't really know if the situation is similar at all, and he keeps his word about not prying further. “Thanks for telling me. Can I say something? It’s okay if not.”

Zuko pauses thoughtfully. “Go ahead.”

“I know that I don’t really know him, or what happened. But he sounded worried on the phone, and it seems like he travelled a long way. That sounds to me like someone who really wants to see you.”

He can see Zuko thinking it over.

He takes Zuko’s free hand, the one that’s not petting the dog. It’s hot and clammy.

“I think your fever’s gotten worse,” Sokka murmurs. “We should get you back to bed. Are you even supposed to be out here?”

When they turn back towards where Katara and Aang are waiting, Katara makes the answer to that question crystal clear. But she doesn’t chastise too much while herding Zuko back to his room.

When they’re alone, Zuko bites his lip and asks, “Do you think he’s still here?”

“Iroh?” Sokka asks softly.

Zuko nods.

“I’d be willing to bet on it," says Sokka.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mental image of Appa is like this plus a little bit of sheepdog: https://learningfromdogs.files.wordpress.com/2016/05/pyrenean-mastiff-02.jpg
> 
> I hope I got Sokka's characterization right! He strikes me as someone who listens to his own gut and doesn't always immediately think about the other person's perspective, but he demonstrates canonically that he is also not someone to shy away from apologizing when he realizes he's been wrong. Zuko on the other hand, is in an unusual mental place where he's already healed a lot and faced down a lot of his issues, but that doesn't mean they're really *gone*, because recovery is not linear and his most recent trauma is dragging up a lot of old feelings for him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, I’m so flattered and excited by the response to this fic! The comments and kudos give me life, this is my first fic in the fandom and I’m so happy there are people who share my interest in soft Zukka and Zuko hurt/comfort.
> 
> Iroh is my favorite character. I hope this does him justice.
> 
> This chapter warrants a tw for mentions of vomiting (it’s not graphic though)

Zuko eyes the trash can by the bedside warily. He agreed to do this. It’s probably too late to back out now, even if he feels like he might need to throw up.

 _“Are you sure, buddy?”_ Sokka had asked, encouraging but not pushing, which Zuko wasn’t used to and desperately appreciated. He’d affirmed that yes, he was sure. And no, he didn’t need Sokka to stay with him or wait in the next room “just in case”. He had to face this alone.

Alone, like he’d been with a lawyer’s hand on his shoulder and everybody’s eyes on him. Alone, like he’d been in his childhood bedroom a week later, all his belongings still in boxes when he realized the gravity of what he had done. Alone was something he could always count on. But now, Uncle was here.

Sokka had helped Zuko sit up and arrange all the pillows to keep him propped upright. It makes him feel a little less helpless. Makes him feel like the adult that he is—an adult who is not going to puke, who is not going to cry.

A muffled voice from the hallway says “Thank you, dear,” to a nurse and Zuko’s body suddenly threatens to go back on both of those promises. The door swings further open.

Zuko is prepared to face anger, maybe hatred, definitely disappointment. Maybe Uncle’s usual gentle concern. He is not prepared to see so much sadness on Iroh’s face.

Zuko has planned what to say, but under that gaze, he suddenly can’t seem to find the beginning. He runs through the words in his mind like he’s trying to find the end of a tangled thread.

Iroh says nothing as he crosses the room and sits down on the edge of the bed.

They speak at the same time.

“Uncle, I’m sorry,”

“Zuko, are you alright?”

Iroh reaches out to put a hand on Zuko’s shoulder, and Zuko can see him carefully gauging his reaction to the physical contact. When Zuko doesn’t flinch away, Iroh puts his other arm around him and pulls him into a hug. In spite of himself, Zuko relaxes into the pressure of being held.

Zuko wants to stay like that forever. This is an enormously frightening thought.

“I’m sorry, for everything. You sacrificed so much to try to help us,” Zuko mumbles into Iroh’s shoulder, cursing his own habit of self-sabotage. He shouldn’t be reminding Uncle of all the reasons he has to walk back out the door and never return. But the words spill out. “I’m sorry I was nothing but rude and ungrateful for three years, and then… _then_ ….” He knows that Uncle will know what he’s referencing. _And then I ruined everything._

Iroh waits until Zuko pauses too long searching for the words, then interrupts gently. “We don’t need to have this conversation right now, Zuko, while you are so ill. I’m here, and I love you very much.”

“I’m sorry—“ Zuko tries again.

“You don’t need to be.”

Zuko holds on tighter and breathes in the smell of jasmine tea and wool, which takes him back to the house where he’d spent the most tolerable part of his childhood. Iroh rubs his back soothingly and sighs.

“Wait, listen,” Zuko insists, wrenching himself free of the hug. “I just want you to know that I cut him out. A couple years ago now.”

The relief that spreads across Iroh’s face is unmistakable. Tears are shine in his eyes, and Zuko has no idea what to feel about that. “That must have required incredible strength, nephew. I am very proud of you.”

Zuko swallows and nods a little.

The backs of Iroh’s fingers rest against Zuko’s right cheek, feeling the fevered heat there. He frowns, but doesn’t comment.

“It’s not going to be like—like the burn,” says Zuko firmly. “They said the infection is under control this time.”

Iroh nods, still looking worried.

“Azula _did_ always say that Father would finally kill me if I tried to leave again,” Zuko says dryly. “I guess she was wrong. She had to take matters into her own hands.”

Zuko regrets his lighthearted tone almost immediately when he sees Iroh’s face twinge in horror. “Oh, Zuko.”

“It’s fine,” he says instinctively, but it isn’t. He’d spent so many years rebuilding his life after leaving home, dropping out of university, bouncing around between shelters and motels, getting a job, an apartment, eventually a few friends, and figuring out who he was as a person outside the context of his family. He’d put so much physical and emotional distance between them, and he’d sacrificed and bled for it, only for his old life to follow him here. Only for Azula to show up—in front of Sokka, no less—and drag him back to hell.

Zuko doesn’t mean to start crying, but he gestures subconsciously towards Uncle again and Uncle unquestioningly wraps him up in another hug, and then a few tears fall.

“I’ve missed you, dear boy,” Iroh says as he lays Zuko back against the wall of pillows at last.

Zuko smiles. “I missed you too, Uncle.” 

Then, just as the wave of adrenaline subsides, the nausea returns with barely a moment’s notice. Zuko finally lunges for the trash can he had been eyeing all morning and retches. Iroh makes a sympathetic sound and rubs his shoulder until it’s over. 

“Easy now, Zuko. Do you need some water?” 

Zuko gratefully accepts the proffered cup, rinsing his mouth and spitting into the trash bag. 

“Is this a new symptom that we need to tell someone about?” 

Zuko shakes his head. “I think I’m over it now. I was just…just…” he doesn’t want to say ‘nervous’, but he thinks Iroh gets the point.

Uncle sits with his hand on Zuko’s knee over the blankets.

There is too much to say. Too much time has passed. Zuko skips over the rougher years and tells him about the present – his job at the bakery, and how it’s not enough hours but the people are nice, and the girl who trained him is disabled too, which makes it easier in some ways but harder in others (because she can’t see him and he can’t hear her very well, but eventually they’d learned to move around the kitchen without scaring the shit out of each other, and she makes him laugh by naming the loaves of bread after things that annoy her while she’s kneading them). Uncle says he’s had a few lucky breaks with his tea business, which Zuko takes to mean there were some unlucky periods too. But Uncle’s face still lights up when he talks about it.

Zuko’s phone buzzes.

[Are you still busy? Katara and her fiancé went to get food and left me in charge of Appa] 

[The dog you were petting earlier.] 

[And I’m bored.]

Zuko smiles. Sokka can be very tactful when he’s trying to be, but sometimes he attempts to offer Zuko favors while making them sound like they aren’t favors, to increase the odds that Zuko will accept. It’s not always subtle.

[You can come back if you want,] Zuko replies. [My uncle is still here.] Just as a warning. 

He isn’t surprised when Sokka is undeterred by the potential family interaction. He shows up with Appa as promised in a suspiciously short amount of time, like he had been waiting just down the hall after all.

“Best therapist in Republic City here to see you,” Sokka announces. He shuts Zuko’s room door and drops the dog’s leash, allowing Appa to mosey up to the bedside. The dog is tall enough to stand comfortably while resting his head on the mattress next to Zuko’s hand, hoping for more ear scritches. 

“Uncle, this is Sokka,” says Zuko.

He should say more, add some kind of descriptor of their relationship – Sokka is probably expecting him to say something. Sokka, who owns a bi flag tank top and actually wears it, and who has never had to worry about his parents’ acceptance. Zuko swallows that pang of guilt for now.

“So this must be the kind young man who I spoke with over the phone,” says Iroh with a smile that crinkles around his eyes. 

“Nice to meet you, sir.” 

“The pleasure is all mine, Sokka. Please call me Iroh.” 

Sokka pulls up a chair opposite from Iroh. “How are you doing, Zuko?”

Zuko sighs. “Fine.”

“How’s your pain? You’ve got to be due for some more meds soon, right?” Sokka presses.

“It’s not too bad,” says Zuko firmly.

Appa decides that the head pets have become insufficient, and that he really needs to get the itchy spot between his shoulders within Zuko’s reach immediately, and launches himself up onto the bed across Zuko’s lap. He gives Zuko’s face a big, sloppy kiss.

“Appa!” says Sokka in an authoritative voice, which the dog ignores. “Sorry. He’s not supposed jump up without being invited like that, because sometimes the kids are afraid of him. I guess he really likes you.”

“Zuko has always had a way with animals,” says Iroh, nodding. “Do you remember the spring when you decided to sit and watch the duck eggs hatch down by the pond—”

“Uncle, no,” Zuko groans.

Sokka grins. “They imprinted on him?”

Iroh nods. “They imprinted on him.”

Sokka cackles. “How old? I’m trying to picture it.”

Iroh rubs his beard thoughtfully. “About six, I believe, and he was very enthralled with the experience.”

“Okay, that’ll do, thank you,” Zuko interrupts, knowing that Sokka won’t be letting that one go any time soon. Appa lunges up and tries to lick his chin again.

For a moment, it’s almost nice. Maybe it’s just the big furry weight in his lap, applying steady and calming pressure. But Sokka is here, and _Uncle_ is here, and he never would have dared to hope for these two people to be sitting beside him and laughing together.

It can’t last.

That thought drops like a stone into the pit of his stomach and soon he’s shoving Appa to the floor and lunging for the trash can again. There’s nothing in his stomach; he’s been restricted to clear fluids and broths because of the freaking hole in his gut, but his body tries its best to vomit anyway.

Sharp pain radiates out from wound with every twinge of his stomach. Uncle rubs his arm again until a nurse comes with nausea medication and his next dose of painkillers. Appa makes a sad “boof” sound and waits for someone to allow him back onto the bed, but Sokka just slips his fingers through the dog’s collar to remind him to stay.

There’s a spot of bright red blood seeping through Zuko’s gown, right above his navel.

“Looks like you busted some stitches. Nothing to worry about, I’ll just page the doctor,” the nurse promises.

The narcotics are kicking in fast. Zuko’s heartrate slows, and he starts to feel hazy and content. His hand is still gripping Uncle’s tightly.

Sokka gives Zuko’s opposite shoulder a supportive little pat.

“That’s it, it will all be alright,” Iroh says softly.

Zuko believes him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a longer chapter this time! Hope that makes up for the wait. Zuko gets sicker, and Sokka gets a turn with the angst spotlight.
> 
> cws for this chapter: mentions of mild anxiety attacks, discussion of past canon character death

“What happened?” Katara demands from the doctor on the evening shift. It isn’t the first time she’s abandoned Aang at a restaurant to answer a summons from work, and it won’t be the last.

She half-listens to Song’s report while re-checking Zuko’s vitals for herself, because it’s hard to believe that they’ve changed so much in three hours. She remembers not to touch his face, and hands him an oxygen mask to put on himself.

Katara’s gloved hands palpate Zuko’s abdomen while he whimpers in pain.

“Zuko, what hurts?”

“Stomach,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Something ruptured?” Song guesses.

“I doubt it,” says Katara. “We should check just to be sure. But I think it’s sepsis setting in; we knew this was probably coming. Let’s draw fresh labs and order that x-ray.”

She tries to explain what’s going on to Zuko, and sees he’s trying to pay attention but his gaze keeps wandering towards Sokka instead. He’s avoiding eye contact with his uncle, even though he is gripping Iroh’s hand painfully tight.

“I had sepsis once before,” Zuko confesses to Sokka. He reaches a hand up to point towards his left eye.

Sokka’s eyebrows furrow as he nods.

“I don’t know if you know anything about burn care…but I much prefer wounds that can be closed with stitches.” Zuko chuckles a little.

Katara knows exactly what he’s talking about. She had done a rotation in a burn unit once, and knew that the debriding of dead flesh was painful like little else in the world.

Sokka keeps his word and doesn’t ask any prying questions. He’s rubbing his wrist, fidgeting with something. It’s the bracelet that Aang made him, woven of faux leather with a crescent moon charm braided into it.

“It would be best if your visitors waited outside for a while, Zuko,” Song explains. “We need to fix your sutures and then run a few tests. You might want to say goodnight now, and they can come see you in the morning.”

Zuko swallows and nods.

They take their leave gracefully with a few words of comfort, and Appa, who had been lying obediently at Sokka’s feet, sneaks up to lick the back of Zuko’s hand one last time. Katara asks Sokka to get her car keys from the locker room and take Aang and Appa home.

Zuko vomits twice more while Katara is stitching the wound, but her instinct is right—the repairs they made during the surgery have held up, which is extremely good news. She waits long enough for his blood culture to come back from the lab so she can make a recommendation about altering his cocktail of antibiotics, but then it’s time to turn things back over to Song and go home.

It’s gotten late, somehow. It’s easy not to notice until she enters a hallway with windows and sees that it’s dark.

Katara sends Sokka a text when she gets back to the locker room. By the time she changes and stuffs her sweaty scrubs into the laundry bin, he still hasn’t replied. He’s not waiting in their usual spot, nor in the cafeteria.

Katara finds him in one of the lounge rooms, folded up in a chair, out cold.

“Hey smarty, wake up,” Katara says, prodding his shoulder. When there is no response, she tries again. “Sokka? Time to go.”

“Hmm?” Sokka mumbles as he jerks up and raps his head on the chair’s wooden armrest. He blinks and looks around the room.

“Time to go home,” Katara repeats.

“Oh,” says Sokka, the word falling softly from his lips. He lifts a hand up to his mouth.

She waits for him to move. He doesn’t. His gaze is scanning slowly across the room like his mind is not quite located in the present conversation.

Katara realizes. Sokka has had anxiety attacks before, and the signs aren’t always typical or obvious. She knows that he tends to get very quiet and uncommunicative.

“Zuko is doing alright,” she offers. “Are you doing alright?”

Sokka inhales sharply. “Yeah,” he whispers. He stands up slowly. “Time to go?”

So not a full-blown attack, then. Not right now, at least. By the time they get to the parking garage, Sokka’s eyes have lost that glazed-over look.

She doesn’t ask him about it—she doesn’t have to.

“Does it ever catch you by surprise? The smell and the sounds of the hospital?” he asks at a red light.

“Actually, I’m pretty desensitized to it,” Katara admits. “But sometimes, there will be a particular patient that reminds me. Especially if they have little kids.”

“I’m fine,” Sokka asserts. “It doesn’t bother me, I mean I have no problem being around hospitals. Just something about waking up there, I think, brought the memories to the surface.”

“That makes sense,” Katara assures him. “And Zuko’s going to be fine, you know that right?”

Sokka nods. “Yeah. It helps to hear you say it, though.”

They drive the rest of the way in comfortable silence.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Zuko wakes up with a bad taste in his mouth. There’s a tightness in his chest when he thinks back to the previous night. He’d gotten caught up in the complicated emotions of seeing Iroh again, and he’d allowed himself to get carried away. In the clarity of the morning, he thinks he is a little wiser.

When Sokka had called his uncle, it had been to prepare him for the worst. Iroh had dropped everything and rushed here to say goodbye, or to be the person that has to sign the paperwork and probably clean out Zuko’s apartment, something like that. He had come here with a purpose, a purpose that was now moot. He hadn’t come to stay. And he hadn’t come to restart their relationship.

He has to remind himself of this, because the kind of longing he felt yesterday was unacceptable. It is an invitation for disappointment.

Uncle has a life to get back to in Ba Sing Se. Zuko has a life here now, too. He’s had to carve it out for himself. It was fine without Iroh in it before, and it will be fine again.

Sokka visits, but only for a few minutes before he has to go to work. He’s jumpy and distracted, fidgeting with the moon bracelet again and ultimately darting out the door. Zuko falls back asleep before he can finish wondering what might be going on.

He feels weaker than the day before, and fatigued right down to his bones. When he wakes again it’s nearly lunchtime. He takes a deep breath of oxygen and tries to sit up a little. He sees that he is not alone in the room.

“Hey Katara,” he rasps, pulling the mask out of his face so he can enunciate.

“Hey Zuko, how are you feeling?”

“Not super,” he admits. He thinks back to earlier that morning, and his heart thumps in his chest. “Do you know if something’s up with Sokka?”

“He’s at work,” Katara says without lifting her eyes from her tablet. “I think it’s a field trip day. He likes showing off for the kids that come to tour his lab.”

“I know. He came by earlier, and he seemed a little off. That’s all.”

That makes Katara put the tablet down. “Did he say anything?”

“Not really.” Zuko knew it was probably irrational to assume that it was anything to do with him, but he was anxious anyway.

Katara pauses thoughtfully as if she already knows the answer, but is unsure how much to share. “He’s told you about how our mom died, right?”

Zuko nods.

“Well, it was in this hospital. I think that’s been on his mind, spending so much time here lately. I know it might seem surprising that it didn’t bother him until just now, but triggers can be really unpredictable.”

“I know,” Zuko mumbles.

Katara smiles. “It’s sweet that you’re worried about him.”

Before he drifts off again, Zuko reaches for his phone and texts, [It’s okay if you don’t want to come visit later. Maybe we can Facetime tonight though?]

Sokka’s reply is immediate. [Do you not want me to come???]

[No]

[I’m just saying you don’t have to]

He doesn’t manage to stay awake to see Sokka’s response.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

When he wakes up, there’s a text waiting for him. [Noted. See you later.]

The soft-spoken nurse (he’s pretty sure her name is Lani) sees that he’s awake, and brings him his medication and a bit of surprising news. “There’s someone waiting in the lobby to see you. Are you feeling up to visitors?” she asks. 

Zuko swallows his confusion and nods. It’s way too soon for Sokka to be here.

He almost hates how warm and happy he feels when Iroh appears in the doorway.

“Good afternoon, Zuko. I was wondering whether you would feel up to sharing a cup of tea with me. I brought a ginger and chamomile blend that is easy on the stomach.”

Zuko opens his mouth to respond, but what comes out is, “I’m surprised you came back.”

Iroh looks confused as he sits down and exhales. “What do you mean? You are surprised I came to visit you today?”

Zuko feels foolish admitting it, so he just shrugs. “I figured you probably had to get home. And it’s okay. I know it must have been difficult to see me again. I—I’d be furious with me.”

“Ming will have no problem keeping the shop running in my absence. It is more important for me to be here. I wish the call had come under better circumstances, but there is nothing I wanted more than to see you again.”

“But Uncle…I’m…” the word on his lips is ‘sorry’ but he can’t seem to say it again. He’s tired, so tired.

Iroh frowns. He seems to realize that Zuko is in no condition to sit up and drink a cup of tea. Unwanted chills keep vibrating up his spine despite the sweat beading at his temples.

“I promise that we will discuss everything when you are well again, but not now, nephew,” says Iroh. “I was sad that things ended up the way that they did, and I was very angry with your father, and angry with the court, but never with you. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Zuko shakes his head in disbelief.

Uncle rests his palm gently on Zuko’s forehead. Zuko expects it to be uncomfortable, because it always is when people touch his face, but he finds it’s soothing when he knows it’s Iroh. When he knows he’s safe.

\------------------------------------------------------

Zuko opens his eyes and is jolted by the sensation of lost time. “Was I asleep?” he mumbles.

“You’ve been in and out,” Uncle supplies. He is leaning back in one of the chairs with his reading glasses on and a huge, ancient-looking book in his lap. He closes the book, holding his page with one finger, and sits forward to look at Zuko.

“How are you feeling?”

“Feeling tired of everybody asking that,” Zuko retorts as he sits up, and Iroh laughs. He laughs more deeply than the quip really warranted, in Zuko’s opinion.

“I am sorry, it’s just nice to hear you sound like yourself again,” Iroh explains.

Zuko frowns, because he doesn’t know how Uncle can just act like nothing has changed. The urge to throw up is a little less strong this time.

“I’m sorry. I did want to try your tea. Could I try some now?”

“It’s good for you to rest. And I’m afraid it’s gone cold,” Iroh warns.

“That’s okay,” says Zuko, even though he’s pretty sure that’s some kind of blasphemy in Iroh’s world. Iroh hands him the thermos with a dubious look, but Zuko takes an enthusiastic sip. “Chamomile was always my favorite.” 

Iroh smiles. Of course he remembered that.

Zuko’s gaze falls down to his lap.

“Is something on your mind, Zuko?” Iroh asks.

“Not really.”

Zuko fidgets with the thermos in his hands. He’s scared that something’s up with Sokka, and he honestly has no idea what to expect from Uncle—his instincts so far have been all wrong, but he knows better than to hope too much. He cringes at what he’s about to ask, but he can’t restrain himself. “So Uncle, are you headed back to Ba Sing Se tonight?”

“No, Zuko,” says Iroh. “The tea shop will not burn down if I am away for a short time. I have a hotel room a few blocks away.”

“You could stay at my apartment,” Zuko blurts out before he allows himself to think better of it. Perhaps it is presumptuous, perhaps ‘a short time’ just means one more night, or two. But if it doesn’t…well, the expense of a hotel room doesn’t make sense.

Uncle waves his hand. “I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s not like I’m using it. The key is in my bag.” Zuko is happy to have something to offer, but his question still hasn’t really been answered.

Iroh has always read him like a book. “I will stay as long as you need me, Zuko. I wish I could have been there for you sooner.”

Zuko is too groggy and feverish to formulate a proper response to that, so he just gives Iroh a hug.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

“I come bearing gifts of blankets and entertainment,” Sokka announces. Zuko can’t help but wonder if his voice is just a little too loud, or if the comedic bravado is a little more forced than usual.

“You are very amusing, but seriously?” Zuko raises one eyebrow.

“Jerk. I brought you my laptop and a movie. And now I’m not sharing my fuzzy blanket.”

“Fine, then I’m not watching your horrible movie.”

“What? Do you think I would bring a bad movie into your home? Me? The purveyor of good taste?”

“Sokka, you’ve made me watch Sharknado 4 _and_ the Angry Birds movie.”

“Those were _cultural experiences_. Anyway, you’ll like this, it’s some kind of indie hipster mystery shit.” Sokka is still fidgeting.

“Sokka?”

“What?”

Zuko doesn’t know how to bring it up. “Are you okay?” he tries.

“If by that you mean, ‘Sokka was uncharacteristically selfless enough to bring me a movie that I will like and he will not’, then a better tack might be ‘thank you’”

“No, shut up,” Zuko grumbles. Time to just spit it out, he supposes. “I mean you’ve been all bouncy and nervous all day, and you’re giving yourself a wound with that bracelet.”

Sokka’s hand stills on his wrist, because although Zuko is exaggerating, the skin where the bracelet keeps rubbing is starting to get sore.

“I know it’s,” Zuko tries. “I mean, it’s okay if you’re uncomfortable visiting me here. I get a little, um, anxious in hospitals too sometimes. The disinfectant smell bothers me, you know?”

Sokka laughs nervously. “Why is the smell the part that sticks out the most? You’re so right.” He sighs. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m just saying it’s okay if you need to leave, or take a time out,” Zuko insists. “I know it can be hard to deal with bad memories.”

“They’re old memories,” Sokka shrugs.

“I know,” Zuko whispers. “But they must still hurt. I lost my mom young too.”

“My mom?” Sokka suddenly sits upright. There’s a moment of sharp silence.

 _Oh crap. Is that not it?_ Zuko clenches his fists nervously. “Sorry, I thought—well, Katara mentioned—”

“Ah.”

Sokka takes the bracelet off and looks at it. “I miss her too, of course. Just…don’t tell Katara, but I don’t really remember the day she died very well. I wasn’t in the car with them. I was out fishing with our dad, and we got a phone call…everything after that is kind of a blur.”

“Oh,” says Zuko lamely. He doesn’t know what to say next.

Sokka exhales through his nose and sits down. “Actually, I’ve been, um, having nightmares about Yue recently.”

“Your high school girlfriend?” Zuko clarifies.

“Yeah.”

Zuko nods uncomfortably. “You mentioned before that she was sick for a long time.”

“She was born with a heart condition. They originally thought she would only live a few days, but somehow she got 16 years. Her parents believed it was a blessing from the moon spirit—I don’t really know about that, her tribe’s beliefs about the moon are a little different than mine, but I’m grateful for the time she had, and that I got to know her. But eventually, it was kind of inevitable.”

He pauses, like he’s waiting for Zuko to interject, but Zuko doesn’t know what to say. Sokka continues. “When she had to be hospitalized, I visited her all the time. At the beginning she had a lot of good days, and we’d talk a lot and play video games and stuff, but she got sicker and sicker. I think she knew that it wasn’t going to get better this time. She died on what would’ve been our first day of junior year.”

“That’s…” Zuko’s thoughts interrupt him— _don’t say ‘rough buddy’_. Zuko winces at the memory of his blunder the first time Sokka had mentioned Yue to him. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” says Sokka.

Zuko looks at the bracelet that Sokka is now spinning around his fingers. He looks at the silver disc in the center, engraved with a picture of the moon. “Was that hers?” he ventures.

“No. Aang made it for me a couple years ago, when he was just starting his business,” Sokka explains. “But Katara and Gran Gran came up with the design, for her. It does sort of help me feel like I can keep her close.”

Zuko nods.

“I’m sorry if that was too much tragic backstory,” says Sokka to cover the fact that he needs to wipe the corner of one eye.

“It’s _fine_ ,” Zuko says firmly. “Do you still want to stay?”

“Definitely,” Sokka nods. “I actually feel kind of better now. Talking about it helped.”

“Okay.” Zuko doesn’t really understand how that works, talking about things usually makes him feel worse instead of better. But Sokka seems to mean it, and he lets go of the bracelet as he moves to start setting up his laptop on Zuko’s bedside tray.

“I guess we better get this movie over with,” Zuko fake-groans.

“I told you, you’re going to like this one!” Sokka interjects.

Zuko moves over to one side of the bed and rearranges the wires and monitors so that Sokka can join him. Sokka toes off his sneakers, grabs an extra blanket, and climbs up. There’s enough room, but only barely, so they end up snuggled close which Zuko doesn’t mind one bit.

“Am I hurting you?” Sokka asks as his chin leans on Zuko’s shoulder. There are several layers between Sokka and the big, square bandage that covers most of Zuko’s abdomen, but neither of them can forget that it’s there.

“No.”

“Would you say something if I was?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Underneath several tangled blankets, their fingers meet and intertwine. Sokka starts the film.

In hindsight, given how much he’s been sleeping today, Zuko should not have expected to make it to the end of the movie. It should not be surprising when he wakes up in the middle of the night and Sokka and the laptop are gone. In his free hand he finds the moon bracelet.

Zuko places the bracelet carefully on the table so it won’t get lost, then maneuvers onto his side and goes back to sleep with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I don't really have a set update schedule because so much depends on my motivation, but I'd like to continue this soon. This was my first a:tla fic and I'm really excited about it!
> 
> If you enjoyed, perhaps consider leaving me a comment? It would really make my day!


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